


Superstitious

by Feileacan



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Come Marking, Curse Breaking, Facials, Gangbang, Gentle Sex, M/M, Sex Magic, Spitroasting, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 00:35:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17131682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feileacan/pseuds/Feileacan
Summary: "It can't get any worse," said Nicklas Backstrom in an interview before the first round of the 2018 playoffs. He should have known to be careful of the jinx something like that could bring, but now it's there, and Nicke and the team are determined to get rid of it by any means necessary.





	Superstitious

**Author's Note:**

> I started this before the final round was over, and paused writing it to make sure that I wasn't going to end up being the one who jinxed them. But they did the thing! And now I finally finished the thing!
> 
> Mild warning in the end notes.

It's not that Nicke doesn't believe in curses, or jinxes, or various stray bits of magic. He'd have to be an idiot not to believe in those things, after so many years in the league, and how many dumb seminars they made them sit through with the team's cursebreaker, and how much of a pain it is to take all his gear to the equipment guys once a month to have the evil eyes repainted and dusted with salt while the paint is wet. So, yes, Nicke believes in jinxes. He can't not. It's only that jinxes are something that a witch lays with intent, not something that can settle spontaneously because of an off-the-cuff joke in an interview.

Alex, of course, looks horrified as soon as Nicke leaves the cameras behind with a little roll of his eyes. "Can't get worse? Nicke."

"What? They like it when I say shit like that. Makes them laugh." Nicke is vaguely aware that Alex isn't the only one staring at him in pure horror. He thinks he sees Burky spit over his shoulder. Onto the carpet. Nicke despairs of his children, sometimes.

"You jinx us," Alex says, pointing an accusing finger. "You watch."

"If you're all going to believe I jinxed you, that's what you call a self-fulfilling prophecy," Nicke replies archly.

He keeps believing that through the first two periods against Columbus, when it seems like everything Kuzy touches finds the back of the net. Then, it's like the momentum just breaks and falters. Devo scores, which should end it in regulation, but Andre takes a tripping call and Columbus sends them to overtime, and Nicky gives Andre the best _I'm very disappointed_ in you glare he can muster as he skates out of the box. 

Then they lose in overtime at home. Then, two nights later, they lose in double overtime at home, and Nicke thinks there may actually be something to this jinx thing, because he was wrong. This is worse. Losing twice in overtime to Columbus in the first round in their own building is worse. Listening to Trotz tell them they just aren't _trying_ hard enough, when he knows every guy in this room is giving it everything he has, is worse.

Feeling like he's the one who did this is worse than anything else combined.

"Okay," he says to Alex, once the press has left and it's just the team in the dressing room.

"Okay?" Alex looks like he's trying to catch up with a conversation he thinks he missed.

"Okay, I believe you, I jinxed it. How do we fix it?"

He could have asked the cursebreaker, but Trina drives Nicke up the wall with her American New Age bullshit. She's got a talent, she's a competent witch, but talking to her for more than five seconds makes Nicke want to scream. And anyway, the cursebreakers in North America tend to throw their hands up at old-world magic like self-jinxes, like they can't conceive of capricious magic that doesn't follow the rules they know.

Alex turns to Kuzy, which makes sense, because Kuzy comes from magic. Nicke has met his mother. When she speaks, her words carry power. Nicke doesn't speak Russian, but he knows power when he hears it flowing from someone's tongue. Kuzy doesn't have the talent for it—if he did, he wouldn't be playing hockey—but he has the knowledge. Right now, he's turning fire engine red, looking back and forth between Alex and Nicke like he might combust.

"It's something embarrassing, isn't it?" Nicke asks, resigned. He's sure they're going to make him strip naked and paint an eagle on his chest, or something foolish like that. This is why he hates magic.

Kuzy stammers. Some of it is in English. Nicke thought they'd played together long enough for Kuzy not to be scared off by what Andre calls "Papa's Scary Face," which he's sure he's making right now, because he hates magic so much.

"Kuzma says we have fuck it out of you," Alex says, blunt and to the point as he always is.

Nicke is sure he's heard wrong. He has a balled-up handful of tape in one hand and his sock half-off and he's just frozen. "He says what?"

"He says, Nicke bring jinx on whole team by himself, need whole team get rid of it."

Nicke doesn't know what his expression looks like right now, but it must be something terrible, because Kuzy starts babbling.

"Is to purge negative energy. Is powerful jinx, to land on you when you don't mean, when nobody cast. Wild magic like this, is unpredictable, hard to break. Needs deep power from oldest magics."

"Sex magic," Nicke says flatly.

"Is very old magic," Kuzy is entirely earnest. "Most powerful magic is part of the body. Blood, sex, birth, death. All most powerful."

"Kuzma says, maybe blood magic work, but bleed you too much." Alex's eyebrows draw together in a severe frown. Even if Nicke were to volunteer for that option, he gets the impression Alex won't let him.

"Of course it is." Nicke can't even describe how much he hates magic. "Fine. What do I have to do?"

"You? Nothing. Look pretty, take lots of dick. Kuzma do the rest." Alex looks up at the rest of the team. The rest of them are all varying shades of crimson. Andre looks like his eyes are going to fall out of his head. Tom has just found his bare feet extremely interesting and seems like he doesn't plan to look up anytime soon.

"Now?" Nicke's throat is dry. He hasn't even managed to shower. He stinks. Half the team stinks. He's covered in sweat and his muscles ache. He needs an ice bath and a long round of stretches.

"Better now," Kuzy says. "Everything still fresh, energy is all there."

Nicke's mouth presses together in a thin, bloodless line. He can feel his teeth digging into the inside of his lip.

"Fine," he says, and strips his underarmor over his head.

"In the middle," Kuzy says, still beet red. Nicke pauses mid-strip.

"On the eagle?" It seems like a worse jinx to step on it, to… to defile it with whatever the guys are about to do to him.

"It's our symbol. In magic, symbols matter." Kuzy is more serious than Nicke has ever seen him, which makes sense, because Nicke has never seen him around magic. Kuzy might have a carefree, fuck-the-rules attitude most times, but magic wasn't something you threw the rules out the window for. 

Nicke looks at the logo, eagle wings outstretched, and swallows against his dry throat as he skins out of his compression shorts, his underwear, his socks. He's been naked in front of the team before, but never with intent. Never with purpose. He walks to the middle of the dressing room, standing just at the edge of the logo, before he takes a deep breath, braces himself and steps onto it.

"Let's get this over with," he says, feeling his own face heat up. Everyone is looking at him, most of them darting quick little glances before their eyes drop again, unable to maintain eye contact. Will any of them be able to look at him after this is over?

Alex moves first. Of course Alex moves first. His stride is unhurried as he crosses the floor to where Nicke stands, naked and embarrassed. He moves in front of Nicke and pulls him in by his hips, the bulk of his body blocking the rest of the room. He looks like he's about to lean down and kiss him, and Nicke's heart starts to speed up, pounding in his throat. He's not sure if he wants that. He's not sure what it means that Alex took the first excuse he had to get his hands on him. They haven't touched each other like that since Moscow, since Alex was the only familiar face within miles and miles.

"You want me first, or last?" Alex asks. His voice is low, but the room is so silent they could hear a pin drop on the carpet. Nicke stares at him, completely unprepared for the question. It's an impossible decision. This whole situation is humiliating. 

"You pick." Normally he'd be preparing the brutal comeuppance of anyone who tried to make decisions for him, but putting this in Alex's hands feels safe. He doesn't want to be any more of an active participant than he has to.

"You sure?" Alex asks, his eyebrows scrunched in concern again. Nicke wants to reach up and smooth the wrinkle away with his thumb. It must be because he's naked and so exposed that he keeps having these ridiculous thoughts.

"I'll be fine. I just don't want to—I don't care, okay?" He wants to add that this is bad enough already, but Andre already looks a cross between wild around the eyes and someone running over his dog, and Nicke is kind enough not to make the guys feel like they're violating him any more than they already have to.

Alex seems to understand what he's saying. Of course he does. Alex always understands what he's saying, even when he's yelling it in Swedish and Alex doesn't actually comprehend a single word. One of his big, callused hands comes up to the back of Nicke's neck and squeezes, his thumb brushing gently over the hollow behind Nicke's ear until he can't contain the shudder that jolts down his spine.

"He needs to lay down," Kuzy says, reluctant, like he's trying not to break the moment.

"Yes, yes," Alex says, gently tugging and pushing until Nicke is down on his knees. "Willy okay?"

Is Nicke okay with Tom going first? It's not a terrible option out of the available options. There's exactly one person in this room he would actually want to sleep with, and he's still trying to keep that under wraps.

"Yeah," he says, because, fuck, he's got to get this done. He brought this jinx on them, and if this is what it takes to break it, he'll do it. For the team, for the Cup. He wants the Cup so bad he feels like he'll fly apart every time he thinks about it. Maybe that's why the magic settled on him, why he was able to call the curse down on them.

Whatever the reason, it's moot now. Tom gets up from his stall and strips awkwardly. That Tom looks as put off by all of this as Nicke does is strangely comforting. He approaches the center of the room so slowly that Nicke finally reaches out for him from where he's down on his knees, catching Tom's hand and tugging him closer. Tom gets down on his level, his hands hovering.

"Uh." It's not very eloquent, even where Tom is concerned. "You okay?"

Nicke huffs a little. "Just get on with it, yeah?"

"Can… is it okay if I kiss you and stuff?"

Nicke doesn't know what and stuff is, but he's oddly charmed that Tom is so concerned with him.

"Go for it."

He doesn't expect Tom to put his hands on Nicke's shoulders and push, bearing them both down on the floor and settling between Nicke's spread knees, but he's supposed to end up on his back at some point and now is as good at time as any. Tom's beard is scratchy, scraping at Nicke's cheeks as they kiss. His body, hot and solid above Nicke, is at least doing the job of getting his dick interested in this jinx-breaking business.

Tom kisses him for longer than he probably needs to. Nicke isn't going to complain about it; while Tom is kissing him, closing his eyes feels less like he's avoiding the reality of the situation and more like the thing to do. Tom isn't bad, either, letting Nicke lose himself in the feeling of Tom's tongue in his mouth and Tom's weight between his legs. Kuzy's voice startles him out of the languid feeling that's been building.

"No, stay," he says, and Nicke cracks his eyes open to see who was trying to leave.

Andre is standing in front of his stall. Nicke watches his eyes dart to the ceiling, the walls, the rest of the team, down to his feet. He's doing everything he can to keep from looking at Nicke.

"The whole time?" He sounds plaintive, like he's begging Kuzy to say that isn't the case.

"Is curse on all of us, breaking needs all of us as witnesses." Kuzy is so matter-of-fact about it that it would piss Nicke off if he wasn't so fucking grateful that Kuzy is treating this clinically. Someone has to keep their head around here.

Andre bites his lip. He's flushing, red crawling up his neck to his cheeks. Nicke isn't stupid or blind, he knows what's going on here, and he pats Tom on the cheek before pushing against his chest, making him lean back a little bit.

"Andre," he says, getting Andre's attention. The second he actually looks at Nicke, the flush goes from patchy to full-face, red as their home jerseys.

"It can't be worth this," Andre says—in Swedish, because he's not a complete idiot, he must know how much this means to them, to Nicke and Alex especially. "We can—next year we can—"

"Next year half of us might not be here," Nicke says, trying to be patient, trying not to blurt out that if they don't do it now, _he_ might be one of the ones who isn't here next year. It isn't like Andre has to lay back and take it, he has no reason to be so upset. "Sit down. If Kuzy says you have to watch, you have to watch."

Andre slowly sinks back onto the bench, his knuckles white as he grips his knees. He's still not looking directly at Nicke, and he's not the only one. John looks like he's trying to save Nicke some dignity, staring fixedly at the ceiling. Beags has adopted the same strategy, only he's got his eyes on the floor. Nicke wonders what witnessing is supposed to mean in the context of the magic. Are they supposed to watch him the whole time? Will the fact that they can't look at him mess up the cursebreaking?

Hopefully it's balanced out by the fact that there are more people looking at him than not. Chandler can't seem to tear his eyes away, round as saucers—he's probably the closest one they've got to a rookie, after Andre, and Nicke hopes this doesn't mess him up somehow. V didn't dress tonight, so he isn't in the room, which Nicke can at least be thankful for. TJ's mouth is open, just a little, and the flush that's high in his cheeks looks a lot like the one on Andre's face. Matt is just… looking at him, steady and calm, and Devo is the same, like the two of them are just watching tape. And then there's Alex, whose expression looks exactly like it used to in Moscow, like he's devouring Nicke with his eyes.

"Nick?" Tom asks, tentative. Nicke turns his head to look back up at him. "Should we, uh?"

"Kuzy, what exactly does he have to do?" Nicke doesn't necessarily want the clarification, but Tom seems like he needs the direction.

"He has to fuck you," Kuzy says, with a tone of exasperation like he's tired of repeating himself. "Then come on you."

Tom makes a noise like he's been punched. His hands go to Nicke's thighs, bruising tight, spreading his legs a little wider. "I'll need something to help."

"Someone in this room has to have lube," Nicke says, dryly.

It's Holts, which somehow doesn't really surprise him. He tosses it to Tom, who fields it one-handed and squirts a mess of it all over his dick.

"Do you need me to-"

"I will kill you if you don't put your dick in me right now," Nicke interrupts. He's tired of waiting. He wants this done.

It burns a little, when Tom pushes in, but this isn't the first time Nicke has done this, and he's so bone tired from the game he doesn't think his body could resist anything anyway. Nicke isn't a stranger to putting things up his ass, though Tom is bigger than what he usually uses to get off. The way a collective intake of breath echoes through the room all around him, though, that he isn't used to. He closes his eyes again, just for a second. He can still feel them watching.

"Oh my god," Tom says, his voice cracking. He's still inching in, bit by bit, going so slow that he's the one shaking. "Oh my god, Nick, you're so tight, am I- are you okay?"

Nicke feels the flush rising up his neck, getting stronger when someone else sucks in a sharp, bitten-off gasp.

"I'm fine," he says. Annoyance still sharpens his tone, though a little bit of the force is lost when he has to breathe slowly through his nose to steady himself.

"Sorry, sorry," Tom says, still holding excruciatingly still. His hands stroke over the insides of Nicke's thighs, like he's trying to make Nicke relax.

"Move, for fuck sake." Nicke is trying not to be too obvious about breathing through his clenched teeth. Tom isn't huge, but he's not small.

Tom mumbles another apology and finally, finally, his hips stutter into motion. He's trying to be polite about it, or at least he's not putting as much force into it as Nicke assumes he's capable of. Nicke has gone soft, a little, and he jumps when he feels Tom's hand brush his dick.

"You look-" Tom cuts himself off, probably worried about how Nicke would react to him saying he looks good like this, or something similar. "Can I…?"

"No," Nicke says, automatic, forcing himself to crack his eyes open a little when Tom snatches his hand away like he's been burned. He looks a little wild around the eyes, his cheeks flushed but his teeth sunk into his lip, and Nicke takes pity on him. "I have to get through eighteen more of you, I can't be too sensitive."

"God," Tom groans, his thrusts gaining a little more force. "You feel- I'm sorry, I-"

"You can talk." Amusement is creeping up on Nicke despite himself, despite the situation and how awkward it is to be flat on his back with Tom over him in the middle of the fucking locker room. It seems like Tom won't be able to stop talking, so Nicke might as well let him.

"You feel so good, Nick." Tom is fucking him a little harder, now, his hands sliding down to Nicke's hips to hold on, bending over him. "You feel so fucking good, so hot, oh fuck I'm not going to last."

"It's not an endurance contest," Nicke tells him. The corner of his mouth pulls up in a smile. "Just remember to pull out."

"Oh fuck," Tom says, nearly a whimper, because apparently Nicke's calm direction is what does it for him. He does remember to pull out, but barely, his hand tight around the base of his dick as he comes all over Nicke's thighs.

Kuzy's hands are on him before Tom has quite shuffled away, fingers dragging through the sticky jizz and using it to paint some kind of symbols on the inside of Nicke's left thigh, muttering under his breath. It stings faintly, like a tiny shock, and then Kuzy wipes his fingers off on the floor.

"We haven't got all night," Nicke says, dry. "Who's next?"

He directs the question at the room, but his eyes are only for Alex, running this show. Tom slumps back into his stall, looking dazed and avoiding eye contact with anyone as he pulls his underwear back on. Nicke has a moment of irritation, has to swallow the impulse to tell Tom to stay naked if he has to stay naked. Despite him being in the center of this—literally—it very much is not about him. He won't make it about him.

"Beags," Alex says decisively, and Nicke hears another rustle of movement before Jay steps into his field of vision and gets down on the floor between Nicke's legs.

"You don't want to get off for this?" Jay asks, like he's asking whether Nicke needs more sock tape. Something tight in his chest loosens. He wants to say _thank you_ , not just to Jay but to everyone else, for managing to take this ridiculous situation in stride. He doesn't.

"Not yet." Nicke says, the same answer he gave Tom. He'll have to, later—there will come a point where he's too on edge and he'll have to just to release the tension—but it's not yet.

"Your call." Jay hikes Nicke's thighs up and sinks into him easy. Tom was sloppy with the lube, and Nicke's face turns a little redder at the noise it makes, obscene and loud in the room.

It's efficient, and he also doesn't talk, just pumps his hips with little grunts of effort and his sweaty hair falling into his face. Nicke doesn't have to do anything to hold himself off; the businesslike way Jay fucks him makes getting fucked a lot less sexy. He doesn't think he should be disappointed by that.

Jay finishes over his stomach, come running down into his belly button, and smacks at Nicke's thigh like a stick tap coming off the ice. He rolls up to his feet, breathing hard, and Nicke gets to see the weirded out look that crosses his face when Kuzy dips his fingers in the come like it's finger paint, drawing on Nicke's other thigh this time.

"Carly," Alex says, and so it goes, with John pulling his sweats down just enough to get his dick free and taking his place between Nicke's legs.

Nicke hisses when he starts to push in. He sees at least three people make an aborted move toward him and bites the side of his tongue to keep from rolling his eyes.

"More lube."

"Should have thought of that," John says, slicking himself up with the bottle that's been left next to Nicke's hip. He reaches down and touches Nicke's hole, his fingertips sinking in so easily Nicke flings his arm over his face so he doesn't have to see the reaction.

"I'm fine now, go ahead."

John is bigger than the other two were, which is what made it hurt the first time he tried to push in, and it's what makes Nicke clench his teeth on a sharp gasp when he finally does. He flails with his free hand until he curls it around John's bicep, his arm braced next to Nicke's ribs, and tugs. John doesn't make him say anything out loud. Instead he goes for it, leaning down a little and fucking hard enough that Nicke's shoulders scrape over the carpet. It doesn't matter, because John is hitting him just right and he's having to choke back the noises that would give him away. It's bad enough they all have to see him taking it.

"Jesus, Nick, breathe a little," John huffs, right before he pulls out and Nicke can hear the slick sound of his hand moving on his dick. Nicke doesn't move his arm away from his eyes, and forces his other hand to unclench its bruising grip to flip him off. John laughs, the sound breaking off into a grunt, and Nicke feels more come hit his skin.

He actually jolts this time when Kuzy finishes his magic shit, tracing the symbols over the crease of Nicke's hip.

"You fucking shocked me." He finally looks down to catch Kuzy's expression, a combination between a wry smile and something like an apology.

"Good sign, means magic is gathering. Is working."

"Alright," Nicke says, swallowing. "Let's keep it going."

He looks up, and Alex has his tongue stuck through the gap in his tooth like he's thinking, his eyebrows wrinkled. He looks down at Nicke.

"Okay?"

"Fuck you, just pick," Nicke says. 'Okay' is not a state he's going to reach with this. None of it is really okay.

"Dima," Alex says. He probably thinks he sounds decisive, and he probably does to almost everyone else, but Nicke catches the little flicker of his eyes that says he's uncertain.

He twists around to look. Dima is brick red, his knee jiggling as he sits in his stall. He catches Nicke's eyes and looks away almost immediately, his gaze flicking from Alex to Kuzy. He asks something a little plaintative in Russian. Nicke doesn't need to speak the language to know he's asking if he has to. Shame curls cold beneath his ribs and he lays back down again, wishing he hadn't looked.

"Everyone," Kuzy says firmly. "You want your name on the Cup or not?"

Nicke doesn't know if it should make him feel better that it's what gets Dima moving. He didn't have any illusions about any of them actually wanting him, especially not like _this_ , covered in other people's come and in front of their teammates. It still rattles him a little that Dima isn't even hard when he gets down on the floor, though he at least looks apologetic about it, jacking himself to try and get his dick with the program.

"Is too weird," he says, when he manages to get about half mast. "Turn over?"

Nicke flushes hot again at the request, but he doesn't protest. He rolls over onto his knees and puts his head down onto his arms so he doesn't have to see the team watching him get fucked. His own erection has wilted, which on the one hand is a good thing, but on the other hand means there's nothing to distract him when Dima finally starts to push in.

The angle is no good and Dima is rushing it. When he finally does come, he does it over Nicke's ass, and then Kuzy is there. The shock that accompanies the magic is a welcome sting at this point, like blocking a shot, a reminder that the pain is worth the end result. Dima pats his hip, something like an apology, and goes back to his stall.

"Nisky."

Nicke stays where he is, feeling Matt's fingers curl around his hips. Matt doesn't talk to him, but he does lube up before he starts, and when he pushes in it's slow and gradual, giving Nicke time to adjust before he starts to fuck.

Nicke bites at his arm to contain the noise that escapes him as the head of Matt's dick jabs at his prostate. Matt pauses, and Nicke takes a breath to tell him he can keep going that leaves him in a much louder, much more embarrassing noise when Matt adjusts his grip on Nicke's hips and starts drilling him right where it feels best. He's getting hard again, and unlike last time, it starts to feel urgent by the time Matt pulls out and finishes across his back. Kuzy draws the symbols on the back of his calf. Nicke's leg jerks involuntarily when the shock travels up it, and his chest is heaving, trying to get his breathing under control. His dick aches.

"Grubi? You or Holts."

It's so much easier to let Alex do this, let him choose so that Nicke doesn't have to. It seems like he's cycling through the guys who have been here the longest, or who know them the best. Does Kuzy have to take a turn? Will Alex wait to call him last, just before he goes himself? Nicke pushes the thoughts away. He's here for the ride, for the magic and to break the curse. He let Alex think about these things for him for a reason.

"Nick," Braeden says, and Nicke finally lifts his head up from his arms. "It'd probably get done quicker if we did this two at a time."

The image that flickers through his mind at that makes Nicke's cock ache, but he knows his own body.

"Too close to the next game for you both to fuck me," he says. "I'm not so young I can just bounce back from that."

"I don't mean fucking you at the same time," Braden says, ignoring the way several pairs of eyes dart furtive looks at him, like they can't believe this conversation is happening. "But like, if you blew one of us—"

"Come on, man, this is hard enough on him already," Tom protests. "Don't make him—"

"Shut up," Nicke snaps, and Tom's mouth shuts immediately. "Is that okay for the magic?"

Kuzy shrugs. "Doesn't matter how you get fucked. Just don't swallow."

"Obviously," Nicke says, and he thinks he can be forgiven the dry, sneering way he says it. "Flip a coin or something and come here. And you better have fucking showered, I'm not sucking your dick if you stink."

They don't flip a coin. Philipp gets down on the floor in front of him, with Braden behind. There's a cold dribble of lube down the crack of his ass, and then Braden pushes his fingers in, twisting them around.

Nicke is glad Philipp's dick is right there, close enough for him to just turn and take it in his mouth, muffling the sound that Braden wrings out of him with his fingers. He hears a gasp. The children are learning all kinds of new things about him today, he thinks, a little hysterically. Philipp has one hand settled gently on Nicke's hair, doing nothing but resting there.

Braden knows what he's doing. He's up to three fingers and drilling him just right. Nicke clutches hard at Philipp's hips and swallows him down deeper, choking off his moans before he can make them.

"Holy shit." Philipp's fingers tighten on his scalp, just a little. Nicke likes to think he's good at this. He likes the power this gives him, the way he's able to take someone apart just with his mouth. He doesn't feel that way now, especially not when Braden stops driving him insane with his fingers and pushes his cock in, rocking Nicke forward so the head of Philipp's cock hits the back of his throat.

He swallows through his gag reflex and shifts so that he can brace himself better. Braden starts slow, more of a grinding than a thrusting motion. He smoothes his hand over Nicke's shoulders, the calluses on his fingertips catching on Nicke's skin. Braden fucks like he wants to make Nicke come, like he's doing his best to screw it out of him, and after Matt was doing the same thing, Nicke is starting to feel a little desperate.

"Nick," Philipp says, tugging urgently on his hair. Nicke pulls back enough for Philipp's cock to slip out of his mouth and catches a faceful of come, which wasn't really how he wanted this to go, but at least Philipp is polite enough to aim for his mouth and his chin, not his eyes.

"Not ideal, but okay," Kuzy says, and swipes some of it off Nicke's sticky cheeks to paint on his chest.

The magic jolts through him right as Braden sits up, hauling Nicke back until he's straddling Braden's thighs. He's still keeping to that deep, rolling rhythm, and it's starting to make Nicke feel like he's going to boil out of his skin.

"Fucking get on with it," he gasps, in between the half-swallowed noises Braden wrings out of him whenever he grinds the head of his cock on Nicke's prostate.

"Excuse the hell out of me for being a gentleman," Braden says, amused and low and right in Nicke's ear. His fucking mountain man beard is rubbing against the side of Nicke's neck, and he doesn't seem to care that Philipp might have gotten a little come there.

"Some gentleman." Nicke grabs for Braden's wrist and pulls the hand that had been resting on his thigh over to his dick.

"You want to get off now? There's like twelve of us left."

"Thanks for reminding me," Nicke says, pure acid in his tone. "Are you going to or not?"

Braden answers that question by shifting his thighs wider and fucking _giving_ it to him, bouncing Nicke in his lap while he works his hand over Nicke's cock, and holy shit, Braden is good at this. Every time their thighs meet, the pressure of Braden's dick in him lights up all his nerves. Braden squeezes on the upstroke, pressing his thumb hard on the underside of Nicke's cock, and he's gone.

Through the orgasmic haze, he feels Braden tipping him forward again and then pulling out, jerking off until he sprays the back of Nicke's thighs. He's a mess, and he feels like a limp noodle, and as Braden helpfully reminded him, he still has a dozen people to go.

"Let me roll over," he says, when Kuzy has finished drawing on his calf. His voice sounds worn out. He wonders how loud he was being.

"Don't smudge," Kuzy warns, and Nicke is careful not to. If this whole thing ended up being for nothing, he might actually have to kill someone.

He's breathing hard, and his mouth feels cracked and dry. He opens one eye and catches the bright red face of Chandler. He's clutching a bottle of Gatorade like a lifeline, staring at Nicke just a little too wide-eyed to be anything other than freaked out.

"Give me that," Nicke croaks, his voice rough from taking Philipp's dick down his throat. Chandler fumbles with the bottle and drops it, swears, and ends up just kicking it over to Nicke with his foot. Nicke chugs about half of it in one go, feeling a little more together than he had after Braden took him apart.

"Alright," he says, screwing the cap back on. He wipes off the half-congealed come from his chin and ends up smearing it on his own hip for lack of a better place to put it. He's a fucking mess.

"Chaser," Alex says.

"Oh." Chaission's voice is a little high and thready, like he's stunned. "Me, really?"

"Everyone have to go, so go," Alex says, gesturing at Nicke.

Chaser is hesitant. His fingers are light on the insides of Nicke's thighs, avoiding the squiggles Kuzy has traced there. Nicke lets Chaser lay him back and watches him lean in, then hesitate, unsure.

"You can," Nicke says, even though he doesn't know what Chaser wants to do, exactly.

It turns out Chaser wants to kiss him, even though he just got done blowing Philipp. He nudges in between Nicke's thighs and cups his face, and it's sweet. He's more Alex's than Nicke's, as far as mentorship is concerned, but when he pulls back his face is still reverent, like he's touching something forbidden.

He fucks gentle, too. It's good, especially since Nicke is sensitive after he's just come. Chaser rocks his hips, dragging out and pushing back in with his eyebrows knit in concentration and his eyes locked on Nicke's face, like he's making sure Nicke is okay.

It makes Nicke reach up for his shoulders and tug him down so they can kiss again while Chaser rocks into him. He feels like, if he doesn't reassure them that he doesn't hate them after this, it could ruin the team. So he kisses Chaser, sucks on his lip, and tries not to laugh at him when Chaser groans into his mouth and has to sit up fast to pull out before he comes.

Kuzy is trying to be subtle about checking on him when he draws the sigils this time, his finger tracing over Nicke's abs. He's watching Nicke's face out of the corner of his eye. Nicke slaps him on the shoulder.

"I'm fine," he says. "Halfway done."

"Almost," Kuzy says.

Nicke looks up to find Alex watching. It's obvious how hard he is, pushing out the front of his sweatpants, but he acts like he doesn't even realize. He's flushed, just like the rest of them, his cheeks ruddy above the line of his beard. It's the look in his eyes that feels like it's pinning Nicke to the floor. He looks like he wants to tear everyone away and break them with his bare hands, like he wants to cover Nicke with his body until nobody else can see. Nicke has never seen him look like that before. He feels his cock start to fill out again.

"Osh," Alex says.

"Hell yeah." TJ is not even a little bit shy about getting down on the floor between Nicke's legs. He hikes one of Nicke's knees up on his shoulder, leaning over and pressing Nicke's thigh up against his chest.

"Don't smudge the magic," Nicke says, a little breathless, while TJ squirts lube onto his hole and pushes it in with his fingers.

"I'm not," TJ says. He rubs the head of his dick around in the mess, his head bent, sweaty curls falling into his eyes as he watches. His dick catches on the edge of Nicke's hole and Nicke shoves back.

"Come on Osh, get in there," Devo calls out, and there's a weak series of chirps about TJ holding off because he's got no stamina, but when they're done the room descends into the same intense quiet as before. It adds an air of eeriness to the whole thing; Nicke doesn't think he's ever heard the room this silent.

"Relax, come on," TJ says, and Nicke realizes he's gone tense. He lets out a slow breath and manages to get his arms working so he can hold on, his fingers sliding into the spaces between TJ's ribs. 

TJ breaches him then, fucking into him in short little strokes. With his leg folded up like this, his hips are raised, and TJ is getting him just as good as Braden did. He's doing it on purpose, too, that much is plain from how he stares at Nicke's face, watching closely for how it feels best and then nailing him there every time.

"Ovi, can I...?"

"Ask him," Alex says. There's a rustle of fabric near Nicke's head. He doesn't know when he closed his eyes, but he opens them again to find Devo kneeling over him, his hand wrapped loosely around his cock.

"Too impatient to wait your turn?" Nicke asks, the words jolting out of him in between little gasps at the pump of TJ's hips.

"I can wait if you don't want to," Devo says, painfully earnest. Nicke loves his team as much as he wants to murder them, sometimes.

"It's fine, come on," Nicke says, letting go of his bruising grip on TJ's ribs to reach back and tug Devo in by the hips. The tip of Devo's cock bumps against his mouth and he opens it wide, letting the head skate over his tongue before he tips his head back more and it slides down his throat.

"Jesus," Devo gasps, bracing himself on the floor. "Tap if it's okay for me to fuck you."

Nicke taps his hip. Devo starts slow, his rhythm a weird counterpoint to how TJ is banging Nicke like he's never going to get a chance to have sex again. The gentleness doesn't last long. The first time Devo bumps the back of his throat and he swallows instead of choking, letting the length of him slide down his throat easy as breathing, Devo stops holding back.

TJ comes first, making hurt little noises like he can barely breathe as he jerks off over Nicke's abs. Devo is still going by the time Kuzy finishes drawing on Nicke's skin, and Alex calls for Lars to go next. Nicke doesn't even get to see him coming before he has a new pair of hands on his thighs and another dick seated deep inside him. It's almost becoming routine. He lets himself relax, going nearly limp, mouthing at Devo's cock when he pulls back and swallowing around it when he pushes in.

He gets a perfect view of Devo coming all over his throat and collarbones when it happens, his cock jerking right in front of Nicke's face. Nicke's lips feel bruised and swollen, and he's sure his voice is completely shot. He licks the taste of Devo off his lips and catches Kuzy's eyes as he comes to swipe his fingers through it.

"Still okay?" Kuzy asks him, quietly. If Nicke had the energy, he'd probably punch him. He feels too worn out to move, even though he hasn't done anything but lie there and take it.

"Fuck off," Nicke rasps. 

He looks up at Alex and has a moment of deep appreciation that Alex hasn't once asked if he's okay. He trusts Nicke to tell him. More than that, he trusts Nicke to decide whether it's the kind of not-okay he can push through, or the kind of not-okay that means they have to accept a jinx lingering like miasma over the team, and watch the Cup slip through their fingers again.

Nicke remembers how he felt, at the beginning of this season, after yet another second round exit. Like he was going to fly apart, like he needed to get _out_ , like he was going to burn the whole place down with all of them inside rather than watch that happen again. He won't. He _won't_. It doesn't matter how much he hates this, being vulnerable and messy in front of everyone, there isn't another choice.

Lars comes on Nicke's dick. He probably didn't mean to, from the face he makes afterward, but it means Kuzy has to touch it to gather up the come he needs for his gross magical fingerpainting. Nicke hisses through his teeth, sensitive after coming once and hard again after the treatment TJ gave him. When Kuzy looks up, Nicke gives him what he hopes is a baleful glare. He's breathing through his teeth, and it feels like he's baring them. Kuzy doesn't say anything at all, which probably means his self-preservation instincts are finally catching up with him.

"Batya," Alex says, and it goes on.

Brooks is careless with him. He's rough when he spreads the cheeks of Nicke's ass, and he smears his hand through some of the lube left dripping from Nicke, barely getting his dick wet before he shoves inside. Nicke's head falls back against the carpet and he crosses his arms over his face again, biting his lip to keep his voice contained. It feels good, the friction and the drag of Brooks inside him. Brooks doesn't let him have it easy, either, screwing into him with force enough to move his shoulders on the carpet.

"He's still got six of us to go, man, calm down," Tom says, coming to his defense again. He sounds uneasy.

"No, keep going," Nicke grits out, letting Brooks's next thrust knock a real noise from his chest, proof that he doesn't want him to stop. He doesn't know if he wants to come again now or wait for Alex, but if Brooks keeps hammering him he won't have a choice.

"Think you should let Backy say when is time to stop," Alex says. Nicke pries his eyes open to find him staring Tom down, waiting until Tom flushes red to his hairline and mutters something that sounds like an apology. Nicke appreciates it—if he had the breath, he'd be telling Tom himself that he doesn't need someone else saying when he's had enough.

He almost has had enough, is the thing. By the time Brooks comes on him and Kuzy does his little spell, he feels like he's run a marathon. His ass is sore, and he's not even done yet. He sits up slowly, careful not to mess up any of Kuzy's sigils, even though he can barely see them. He can feel them, though. The drying fluid pulls at his skin when he moves, and now that nobody is fucking him, he can feel a faint hum underneath his skin, like pent up energy that has nowhere to go.

"Water," he says, and Kuzy shoves the abandoned Gatorade bottle at him. Nicke drinks the rest of it, throwing the empty bottle in the direction of the recycling. He feels like he's just finished a double shift, his lungs aching as he tries to draw air, his whole body still sore and tired from the game. He's surprised anyone has the stamina to fuck him, really, after that.

"We need to get this done," he says to Alex. "I'm fucking tired."

"I bet," Alex says, like they're talking about drills and not about being the bottom of a magical fucking gangbang. "I still pick?"

"You still pick." His heartrate has gone down a little, and he feels less like he's going to overheat or pass out. He thinks he'd scare them if he did that, even if it does sound nice. Not having to be awake to see the sometimes apologetic, sometimes artificially blank, sometimes nakedly greedy expressions of his teammates as they fucked him—that sounded nice.

Magic was, honestly, the worst thing in the world.

"Jakub."

There's no deference, or awe, or apology in Jakub's face as they fuck, just businesslike concentration. At one point, he even closes his eyes while he drives into Nicke, like he's trying to form a mental picture of something else. For him, it probably is about the Cup. He hasn't been here long enough to have an emotional investment in this run, besides the fact that it's the Cup, and any hockey player who said they didn't want to win that was lying through their teeth. He fucks Nicke fast, though not as hard as Brooks, and comes on him without a word, getting back up to go to his stall like nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

From Nicke's left, someone makes a strangled noise. Nicke rolled his head to see Andre staring like he was devouring Nicke with his eyes. His hands are clenched in his lap, the knuckles white. He shifts around where he's sitting, like he can't keep himself still, wiggling. Andre always did want to be the center of Nicke's attention. It's probably killing him that he has to watch this.

"Burky might die, if I not let him," Alex says, a little bit of teasing in his voice.

"Ovi." There's something desperate in Andre's voice, like he's begging without begging. He's flushed all the way down his chest, only a towel from the showers wrapped around his waist. It isn't doing anything to hide how hard he is.

"Okay, yes."

Andre scrambles onto the floor and crawls over to Nicke, the towel falling off along the way. He's the first one out of all of them to be as naked as Nicke. He's between Nicke's legs, his hands propped on either side of Nicke's hips, biting his lip and staring down like he can't decide what he wants to do.

Nicke takes mercy on him and switches to Swedish. "You can't take all day."

"I'm not," Andre says immediately. "I just—I want—can I get you off?"

He asks in a rush, like he's sure Nicke is going to say no, but Nicke's dick throbs just at the request. He's already come once, but he's been fucked just how he likes it since then, and he's hard again like he's seventeen instead of thirty.

"Everyone is going to be watching you."

"I don't care." Andre sounds desperate. He licks his lips. "I want to blow you."

"I'm a mess down there," Nicke protests, because Andre is going to have five different people's come in his mouth if he does that. "You still have to fuck me."

"I know, I know, I will. I just want to, please, I've been thinking about it—" he snaps his mouth shut, flushing even redder. As if Nicke doesn't already know about how much Andre wants him. As if Nicke didn't see it the second Andre first walked into a Capitals dressing room.

"It's not a great idea," Nicke says, but Andre is staring at him with those huge, brown eyes, pleading, his tongue coming out of his mouth to wet his lips. Nicke knows he'll be eager, and he feels like he's allowed at least one bad decision a season. He already jinxed the team, what more harm can he do?

He throws that thought out of his head immediately and twists the fingers of his left hand together to ward off any more stray magic that might think Nicke is a convenient target. Andre is still giving him his very best puppy eyes.

"Fine, but don't think this means I'm just going to give you what you want, now." Nicke can't help the little smile that tugs over his face at how fast Andre sinks down to his belly on the carpet, mouthing at Nicke's cock as soon as the first word comes out of his mouth.

"Holy shit, Burky," Tom says, when Andre's lips close around the tip of Nicke's cock and he starts to suck for real.

"Get it!" TJ crows from his own stall. 

Andre moans around the cock in his mouth and looks up at Nicke through his eyelashes, looking a little glazed. Nicke reaches with one shaky hand and pushes Andre's curls out of his eyes. He can't resist letting his fingers trail lower, skimming over Andre's cheekbone, then settling on his wet, stretched-open lips.

"That's good," he rasps, back in English now. Andre's hips jerk like the praise is enough to get him off, and Nicke gets a firm grip around his chin, squeezing until Andre looks up at him again. "You can't come yet, you have to fuck me first."

Andre sucks harder, and Nicke swears. He has his knees up, his feet planted on the floor, and now he sits up, abs flexing, until he's in a better position to tangle his fingers in Andre's hair and start pushing him down on his cock. Andre is fucking shameless about it, needy moans buzzing around the shaft of Nicke's cock. He lets Nicke fuck his mouth without a single word of protest, gagging and choking when Nicke shoves in deep, but immediately curling his hands around Nicke's hips like he wants it like that. Nicke doesn't ask him if he's sure—he's watched Andre follow him around like a puppy for four seasons now. Andre would let Nicke choke him on his cock until he passed out, then thank Nicke when he woke up.

Nicke comes faster than he expected, shoved in so deep that Andre can't even breathe, his face turning red. Andre is still working his tongue over Nicke's shaft even like this, his fingers lax around Nicke's hips, like he's content to stay here forever. Nicke would let him, if there weren't more important things to do.

"Your turn," he says, pulling Andre off his cock by the hair. He coughs a little, his lips red, puffy and wet. He has tear tracks on his cheeks. He looks gorgeous. Nicke shoves that thought away. These are special circumstances—exceptions could be made. After this is all over, they'll pretend it never happened and keep going on as usual. That's the way it's supposed to be.

Andre crawls on top of him, less confident than he was getting his mouth on Nicke. It's been long enough between turns now that Nicke's body is displeased with someone trying to force it open again. He's sore, and Andre can probably see it on his face, with the way he's going so slowly it's excruciating.

"Come on." Nicke presses on Andre's ass with the heel of his foot, urging him to speed up. 

Andre makes a noise like he's hurt and does exactly what Nicke tells him, lowering himself down until he's braced on his elbows, his body hovering over Nicke's so he doesn't smudge the magic and his face tucked into the crook of Nicke's neck. Nicke feels like his limbs are made of lead, but he still lifts his hand and cups the back of Andre's neck, squeezing. He means it to be soothing, but it has the opposite effect. 

"Fuck, Papa," Andre gasps into his neck, pulling out suddenly, and barely manages to aim at Nicke before he comes, mostly on his hand, but a little bit on Nicke's ass, too. He's staring at Nicke with wide eyes, his mouth hanging open, a dull red flush on his cheeks as he seems to realize what he said.

"You're fine," Nicke tells him, ignoring Kuzy grumbling about over-eager idiots who can barely follow instructions as he draws new sigils on Nicke's hipbone.

"I'm—I—"

"Later," Nicke grunts. The shock from Kuzy's magic is actually painful now, much like he imagines it would be like to get poked by a cattle prod.

Andre's mouth snaps shut on any further stammering. He looks almost bewildered as he wanders back to his stall, fidgeting. Tom hesitates, then reaches out to pull Andre down onto his shoulder, one arm slung around him. Andre tucks his face into Tom's neck the same way he had Nicke, slowly getting his breathing under control.

Chandler fucks him next. He mumbles, "Sorry, sorry," when he pushes in and Nicke grimaces, and he tries to go slow like Andre did until Nicke slaps his thigh and urges him on faster. It's just better to get it done, and nothing is going to stop Nicke being sore at this point. Chandler whines a little when he comes, resting his forehead on Nicke's collarbone as his dick twitches and paints the crease of Nicke's thigh. Nicke rubs his fingers over the soft skin of Chandler's hip until he sits up and pulls away, almost reluctant with how slowly he moves.

"Michal, then Kuzma, then me," Alex says softly. "Then Kuzma does magic shit and we all go home."

"Thank god," Nicke says. His arms and legs are sprawled wide, and he stares up at the ceiling instead of looking at anyone. His skin feels like there are little sparks swarming around underneath it, a sense of restless urgency that he can't find the energy to do anything about. His muscles feel like water. Even when Michal comes to kneel between his legs, he just closes his eyes and lets it happen, gritting his teeth through the soreness and the burn. It's no worse than pushing himself hard in training, going until his calves and thighs ache whenever he moves.

"Gonna try to finish quick." Michal is panting, sweat dripping from his hair onto Nicke's collarbones. Nicke grits his teeth to keep from making little pained sounds as Michal starts to go harder. He's so sore he thinks he can feel it all the way up his spine. He doesn't know how he's going to last through Kuzy and Alex.

Michal seems to realize that he's having trouble taking it, because he pulls out long before he's done, and Nicke hears the wet sound of his hand on his dick for at least a minute before he comes on Nicke's abs. He pats Nicke's knee like he's apologizing and gets up.

Nicke pries his eyes open when Kuzy touches him. This time, when he completes the last symbol, a full-body jolt goes through Nicke. His back arches off the floor and he feels his cock start to fill again. It hurts more than it feels good, and he throws his arm back over his eyes again, tears stinging the corner of his eyes.

"Should really be me going last," Kuzy murmurs, but he doesn't actually try to argue his case. Nicke feels his fingers between his legs, spreading more lube over his sore hole, and he flinches despite himself.

"Almost done," Alex says from above him, and Nicke nods wordlessly. The sparks under his skin feel like they've spread to his brain, and when Kuzy pushes in, the overwhelming pain-pleasure of it makes his eyes roll back in his head and his ears ring.

Kuzy fucks him achingly slow. He's trying to be nice about it, and Nicke can't make the words come to his tongue to say it's worse the longer he draws it out. He bites the inside of his cheek so hard he tastes blood, clinging to consciousness by sheer force of will. He doesn't know whether it's because Kuzy has been focused on the magic this whole time or whether it's the fact that it's Nicke that he's fucking, but he takes what feels like a hundred years to come. By the end of it, Nicke knows he's making noise at every thrust, tiny little sounds in the back of his throat that he's trying not to let everyone hear.

"Sorry," Kuzy whispers to him, when he finally comes on Nicke's chest. "This will probably hurt."

Nicke opens his mouth to tell him that everything has hurt since before Andre fucked him even, but what comes out is a hoarse shout as Kuzy draws the sigils on his chest. It does fucking hurt, the buildup of magic no longer a benign buzzing but a painful scrape along his nerves.

"Alex," he manages to gasp, and feels his hand caught, fingers slipping between his own.

Alex draws his arm away from his face. He smooths Nicke's hair back from his forehead with his other hand and kisses him there, soft and gentle. Nicke isn't sure he can take that side of Alex right now, when he feels scraped raw, but he can barely open his eyes.

Alex is hovering over Nicke's body, taking painstaking care not to smudge any of Kuzy's symbols. He untangles his fingers from Nicke's and skims them down the sides of Nicke's ribs, where nothing has been drawn and there's still clean skin to touch. He settles between Nicke's legs and props himself up on his elbows. Nicke can feel the heat of his body across the bare inches between them, and he feels a sudden, sharp stab of anger that he can't feel Alex's body pressed tight against his, their skin sliding together, like those nights in Moscow all those years ago.

"Come on," he says, fumbling to touch. His limbs feel out of his control, like he's drunk. His palm slides across Alex's beard and curls around the back of his neck. "Come on."

"Shh," Alex says, petting at Nicke's side like he's trying to soothe him. Nicke wants to hit him, or bite him, but he can't find the energy so he just digs his fingernails meanly into the tender skin at the back of his neck. He's close enough that he can see the black pupils of Alex's eyes expand to swallow the blue. His tongue rolls out over his lower lip and Nicke wants to bite that, too.

Nicke is just getting up the breath to swear at him when Alex finally starts to inch inside him. Nicke's breath hisses in through his teeth—he'd forgotten how thick Alex's cock is, stretching him open beyond what's comfortable. When he starts to move, Nicke feels distinctly like he's clinging to the prow of a ship in a hurricane, hanging on for dear life. Alex rolls his hips slow, one hand still tangled in Nicke's hair, and as soon as Nicke's mouth falls open on an embarrassing, pained whine, Alex seals their lips together to swallow it.

Nicke does get to bite his tongue, now, and gets pleased noise and a shiver out of Alex, a filthy grind of his hips that feels like it's splitting Nicke in half. They stay like that, separated by only enough space not to smudge the magic, breathing into each other's mouths. Alex fucks him like the slow rise of an incoming tide. Nicke thinks that if he wasn't so tired, not able to stay hard even with all the magic swarming under his skin, prickling along his every nerve, he'd be able to come just like this, from the blunt head of Alex's dick bumping over his prostate. His leg jerks the next time Alex does it, involuntary reflex, and the sound he makes into Alex's mouth sounds desperate.

Alex breaks away from him to breathe, heaving pants like he's run a marathon. He bows his head until his cheek rests against Nicke's and his mouth is against Nicke's ear.

"I have to watch," he pants, "I have to watch everyone touch you, have to watch them make you come. Watch how you shudder, how red you get, how much you can take. Nicke, fuck."

"Poor you," Nicke grunts into his ear, amused and exasperated at the same time. He feels Alex grin against his cheek.

"Want to come in you," Alex whispers. It would be whiny, if he was saying it loud enough for anyone else to hear.

"I'll fucking kill you," Nicke hisses at him, because if Alex fucks this up _now_ , if Nicke went through all of it for nothing, no amount of friendship will save him.

"I know, I know, I—" Alex breaks off into a long groan and sits up fast. Nicke feels him start to come while he's still inside, making a mess of him all over again, before he pulls out and spills the rest on Nicke's spread thighs. He doesn't take his eyes off Nicke as he does it, his mouth wet and open, fixed on him like Nicke, filthy and sweaty and disgusting, is the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

Kuzy shoulders him aside, dipping his fingers in Alex's come. Before he even finishes the first sigil, Nicke's skin feels hot. By the second, he feels like there should be steam rising from it. The third sears like a brand. Nicke digs his teeth into his lip and his fingers into the carpet.

Then Kuzy starts to speak. Nicke doesn't understand a word—it sounds like Russian, but it's distinct enough that Nicke can't make anything out. He feels it deep in his bones. He feels like someone is squeezing him, harder the longer the power crackles off of Kuzy's tongue. His bones ache, his skin feels too tight, and his heart is pounding so loud it almost drowns out the noises of surprise that burst out over the room.

Nicke looks up toward the ceiling. There's an oozing grey miasma crawling over it, dripping down the walls like some hideous fingerpainting. The more Kuzy speaks, the thicker it gets, blotting out the overhead lights until their faces take on a ghostly cast. Nicke's ears start to ring again, louder and louder. He rocks his head from side to side, pressing at one of his ears with the heel of his hand, but it's a sound that's not a sound, a sensation passing through his skull.

"Lighter!" Kuzy barks, abrupt, and it takes the span of a couple breaths before the team realizes he's talking to them. There's a flurry of fumbling through gear bags until someone tosses him a zippo, right around the time Nicke starts to feel like his skin is going to flay itself off.

Kuzy clicks the lighter. Nicke's vision lights up in a plume of fire, so bright it's searing. He squeezes his eyes shut and feels like he's been slammed back into his body, like his bones and skin expanded and contracted in the span of a breath. His head is spinning, and when he comes back to himself, he's rolled over on his side with his forehead pressed against the back of his hand, breathing hard.

"It worked?" he hears Alex ask, faintly.

"Jinx is dead," Kuzy says. "Seed, magic, and fire. Done."

"Good," Alex says. Nicke cracks his eye open to see him clap Kuzy hard on the back. "Now everyone get the fuck out."

Nobody argues. Nicke doesn't think he's ever seen the room empty so quickly. Andre gives him a backward glance as he slips out the door, and Nicke flaps a hand at him, too exhausted to do more than just tell him to go.

"Magic will make you very tired," Kuzy tells him, as he's stepping back into his sweatpants and pulling his shirt on. "Sleep lots, eat something salty, everything good. No picking up more jinxes."

"I didn't fucking try," Nicke croaks, but Kuzy just grins at him and moves toward the door. Nicke groans, trying to put an elbow underneath himself. He doesn't manage it. "Zhenya."

Kuzy stops. He turns with his hand on the door handle, his grin softening into a lopsided smile. "Da?"

"Thank you."

"Of course," Kuzy says, serious like Nicke rarely sees him. He slips out the door, letting it click shut in his wake.

It's just him an Alex, alone in the quiet. Nicke feels like he could sink straight through the floor, he's so exhausted, but as he shifts around he can feel dried come pulling at the hair on his legs, and remembers what a mess he is. He manages to push himself up until he's sitting, but he sways where he is and stares dully at his own feet, trying to make them move.

"I got you," Alex says. Nicke isn't that much shorter or that much lighter, but Alex doesn't say a word of complaint as he hauls Nicke up and coaxes him to loop his arms around Alex's neck.

"I'm a mess," he mumbles, his face pressed against Alex's neck.

"We both shower," Alex says decisively, and does carry him into the showers. Their progress is slow because Alex keeps having to stop, set Nicke down on wobbly feet, and catch his breath before he lifts him up again.

"Getting old," Nicke teases, the third time he's done it. He flicks at some of the grey in Alex's hair.

"Next time you carry me," Alex says, tolerant good humor in his voice.

Nicke barely has the strength to stand, let alone wash himself. He closes his eyes and leans against Alex's chest, letting Alex maneuver him and rub soapy hands all over his skin. As Alex is scraping his fingernails through the dried come on Nicke's stomach, trying to loosen it up so he can wash it away, it occurs to Nicke that Alex has seen every part of him, his best and his worst and everything in between.

"Do you think the team will be okay?" he asks. None of those guys had ever seen him vulnerable like this before. To them, Nicke was their captain's right-hand man, not a shivering, fucked-out mess.

"Team will be fine," Alex says, full of confidence. "Think what they think—you want to win so bad you go through this?"

Nicke isn't so sure. He knows that it was obvious how much he enjoyed some parts of it.

"They're used to seeing me one way. This wasn't that."

"Don't worry, everyone remember Mean Lars. Put tape on Burky's skates, they all remember you too scary."

Nicke smiles tiredly, his eyes slipping closed. "I might fall asleep."

"I drive you home," Alex says, kissing his temple. "Might need to borrow equipment cart. No hurting back before next game."

Nicke twists his fingers together and spits on the floor of the shower to ward off any more bad-luck jinxes, and feels the chuckle that rumbles through Alex's chest when he does it.

"Next you only be using same special stick whole series and changing number to 87."

"Fuck you, I'm not turning superstitious." Nicke says it through a yawn, his head drooping toward his chest. Alex's fingers comb through his hair, gentle over his scalp, making Nicke shiver despite the warm water.

He doesn't remember Alex taking him to the car, or driving him home. The next thing he does remember is Alex climbing into bed with him, wrapping around him like a huge, hairy blanket. Nicke manages to lift his hand enough to curl his fingers around Alex's wrist, keeping his arm pinned firmly across Nicke's chest as he falls back down into unconsciousness.

The next day, as they fly from DC to Ohio to play the next two games of the series, Nicke is sore but not terribly so. The rest of the team seems to have come to a mutual agreement not to talk about what happened in the dressing room the night before, falling into their same travel routines without paying Nicke any extra attention. Nicke, despite still feeling tired enough he might actually sleep on the short flight, feels lighter. Something unknots from his chest, anxiety he didn't even realize was there. They're going to be fine.

The only difference is Alex, who sits next to him on the plane for the first time in years and rests his hand on Nicke's knee, casual and nearly possessive. Nicke ignores him with the ease of long years of practice, but as everyone buckles back in for takeoff, he lays his hand over Alex's, their fingers tangling.

Much later, when they win it all, Alex will pass him the Cup first, and Nicke will need help lifting it, the broken hand a last lingering effect of the slip of a tongue and an ill-timed jinx. Much later than that, when the cameras are gone and nobody is watching, Alex will kiss him with lips that taste like champagne.

**Author's Note:**

> For those sensitive to consent issues: while Nicke accepts the necessity of the sex, he's not very happy about having it, or about the situation. It's not really dubious consent, so I left the tag off.


End file.
